


Amarthine

by MyEmpyrean



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Angst, Confusing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Gen, Ghost Aradia Megido, Humor, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV Aradia Megido, POV Eridan Ampora, POV Snowman, Slow Burn, Video Game Mechanics, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyEmpyrean/pseuds/MyEmpyrean
Summary: When it comes to life's injustices, holla' at your resident coffee shop employee Eridan Ampora for a daily dose of insecurities, follies, and just plain misfortunes buried deep within a sea troll's psyche. In other words, he's almost a hundred and eleven percent sure he is completely insane.And this stupid mutant were-bear isn't helping.Whereas another, albeit semi-incorporeal Aradia Medigo just kinda floats around, minding her own business. Don't pay attention to her, oh no, she doesn't really exist anymore. Yep, just allow her a peaceful unrest in her graveyard- it's her home now.At least, she would be nonexistent if this rainbow drinker would stop incriminating her of fashion-related felonies.And Snowman is the poor yahoo in the middle.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora & Gamzee Makara, Eridan Ampora/Karkat Vantas, Feferi Peixes & Karkat Vantas, John Egbert/Equius Zahhak, Kanaya Maryam/Aradia Megido, Ms. Paint/Snowman (Homestuck)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Wide and Awakening

All he remembered before he woke up screaming was a small, soft something stabbing his cheek like some glubbing dumb fish bumping into the wall of the tank, not realizing it’s glass because it’s nearsighted as, um, whatever’s a nearsighted thing… cod almighty this turned into something else, didn’t it? Uh.

Anyway, he planned on remaining nestled in his recuperacoon from dawn to dusk, as any self-respecting troll would do in order to, you know, prepare himself for a long, long night full of pulverizing coffee beans and resisting urges to pulverize customers, but sigh. It seems that Eridan is never that lucky.

So, when that something invaded his personal, private area inside his ‘coon, he did the natural thing and shrieked. A behemoth leaving’s worth of sopor slime gushed between his lips and proceeded to choke him. He spluttered and coughed on that viscid gunk, flailing his arms so wildly that he might become the first flying fish-troll. His life flashed before his eyes- his mundane and unsuccessful years alongside his prophecy of lustrous glory… no. He wasn’t going down without a strife. He opened his mouth and bit down on his tiny offender.

Bluh… what was that? Felt? Cod, it tasted awful.

Wait. Oh carp.

He slowed his movements until his body was motionless. His new catch wrestled in his fangs. He loosened his grip and he felt the finger abscond. Hopefully that whole circumstance wasn’t going to dock his pay. Eridan braced his legs against the bottom of his cocoon and pushed off, reaching his arms out and grabbing the sides of the opening. He thrust himself up and his head broke surface, where he began to hack up and vomit globs of green all over the white tile floor- Just where two members of the day crew of Schmoe’s Cup of Joe could see him. His coworkers. His bug-eyed, green-skinned leprechaun coworkers.

He spit the last of it out. Might as well pretend that never happened.

“Why in the name of Gl’bgolyb are you wakin’ me up for!?”

The leprechaun nearest the recuperacoon, rubbing his hurt finger, glanced toward him with narrowed eyes. One glance at his hat- a crooked red hat labelled with a number three- revealed nothing because he didn’t bother to memorize their names.

“You,” He pointed to angular, lanky number Three. “Why did you poke me? I know for a fact it’s not time for me to work yet, cod, it’s probably not even sundown. Trolls are nocturnal. Unless you want to be the first to perish once I find a doomsday device, you will let me sleep!”

Three furrowed his brows, like are you done? He waved his undamaged hand toward another leprechaun, who waddled over with a typewriter.

Eridan rubbed his temples, already regretting past life choices. All he wanted was to sleep in his rightfully earned cocoon, and now all these aliens are ruining it; plus, they expect him to stay awake to play language barrier games with them. Why is all of this happening to him, out of all trolls?

At least he could recall this leprechaun’s name. Fin approached with the typewriter, but paused for a moment to prevent his orange hat from sliding off his oblong head. That must make Three…. Truce? What was the name of Fin’s moirail again? (Technically, they aren’t moirails because they’re leprechauns, but, come on. They are clearly waxing diamonds.) Whatever, he’s just going to keep calling him Three. Fin tried to shove that typewriter into Three’s hands; however, Three-is-a-crowd shook his head and pushed it firmly back to him. Fin’s shoulders sagged as he plopped himself down and began to type.

While that sickenly familar _click-click-click_ permeated the air, Eridan extended his arm and patted the surface next to him. His claws brushed a smooth, plastic object, in which he seized and smacked his on his face. He will need his glasses if there’s reading involved. He surveyed the area around him, just to see if anyone else witnessed his upchucking, but the room only held the watchful eyes of the metallic counters, timber cabinets, one grimy crisprange, one hunger trunk, and an island of counters in the middle of the small space, all painted green or white. He imagined that if any of these appliances were sentient, they would be in silent judgement.

Oh, yeah, he does sleep in the kitchen where he works, and no, it wasn’t a matter of free will. Let’s just say… he has financial issues.

He turned back around to see a piece of paper ram into his face. He squinted his eyes to read these subsequent words: _We found a weird animal while workin’. Some bear maybe. It’s knocked out cold, though. Sawbones thinks you should take a looksee_.

“Animal? Are you kidding me? Just get rid of it.” He was woken for no reason, no reason at all. Someone will pay for this, if his name isn’t Eridan Ampora! Right after he gets his beauty sleep, that is.

Fin huffed and crushed the paper into a ball. He typed up a new one, which said: _The thing is, we already tried. Last week, Cans clocked into this one. Sawbones stopped it from being lovingly introduced to our overseer’s weapon. It’s your problem now_.

He glimpsed around the paper to see Fin; plus that smug, barbed smile of his. He had a feeling that this venture was dumped on him just for spite. _I see how it is_. He really is at the bottom of the food chain here, might as well claim the scrublife now and start his new career as a maid.

Maybe they deserve a reminder of his actual place- “Fine, where’s this bear?”

In his defense, if there was even an infinitesimal chance that this order came from Sawbones; then he had to obey. It’s a lot less irritating that way, trust him.

Fin exchanged a sly smirk with Three-cheers; next, motioning for him to follow, turned on his heel and shambled toward a doorway that led off from the kitchen to an area Eridan was very familiar with- the employee parlor. After a very ungraceful tumble out of his cocoon, he thrust himself to his feet without any additional help (not that Three bothered to offer), and followed Fin into the only nirvana inside Cup of Joe’s.

Again, green and white duked it out for attention in a spacious chamber where loungeplanks galore lumped themselves against the walls, all of them confronting a miniature television. Behind this powwow of seats, low grunts indicated several games were going at once, such as air hockey, slapjack, and Foosball; moreover, all of these matches were commandeered exclusively by leprechauns. He was tempted to count- but it would be easier to say the number exceeded more than ten, probably more staff than should be on break. All of them swiveled their heads as soon as he entered.

Eridan nodded to them. Of course he’s used to this kind of attention, sitting prettily near the throne in terms of hemospectrum. Nonetheless, when about ten pairs of large eyeballs that lack pupils touchdown on his person in unison, well… He slapped a hand on the back of his neck.

“What’s goin’ on… why are all of you starin’ at me!?” He demanded. Oh, don’t think he didn’t notice that sigh, Fin. One of the leprechauns, number twelve drummers drumming, huffed at him. He folded his arms akimbo-style.

“I don’t see a bear in here. This better not be a office prank because I promise I when I prank you back, it will involve air horns and load gaper paper-” A document was deposited on his folded arm platform.

He tossed Fin a dark look before leaning in to read this new message. _It’s near the slidin’ door, dummy_.

“Well, it’s not like I have a clear view of the slidin’ doors, not with all these toad goblins in the way!” He untangled his arms from his irate pose, which allowed the memo to flutter to the floor, right in stopping distance. Which he took full advantage of. Gladly.

One of the slapjack players adjusted his rust-red cap and lumbered over, an equally as red crowbar swinging in his fist at his side. His sneer deepened when he came closer, until he was inches away from his nobility cantankerous trout. He appraised him with a sideways glance; afterwards, he regarded Fin and mumbled something to him. _Oh cod they’re talking_. Fin responded with a squeak and something approaching a growl. Lucky number Seven dipped his chin.

Fin typed up a fresh report for his viewing pleasure. Whoopee. _Crowbar’s gonna accompany us. After all, we don’t want violet bloodstains to clash with the green carpet_.

“Wait… what-” A crowbar sliced his field of vision, quivering just beyond his nose. His throat seized and spasmed. He risked a peek at his aggressor, and raised his palms into the air. “What are you gettin’ angry at me for!?”

Fin seemed to anticipate this and held up another piece of paper, which oh-so helpfully explained the following: _Be nice to our protector. He’s the oversee_ r.

“I know who he is, but I didn’t even say anything-” He broke his sentence off with a screech as the crowbar flinched toward his face. High-pitched huffing ping-ponged across the room. _Oh, by the by, he’s sensitive_.

Twin grins snaked on their faces as Eridan finally realized that he was completely, utterly, and hopelessly at their mercy.

He only allowed himself to slump when that _thing slinked at least three yards away from him. Alright, you won today, Mr. Crowbar. I was going to check it out anyway, no need to show-off_.

One advantage that Crowbar brings as an escort is his ability to part the seas. Once he’s on a mission, someone would have to be either brain-dead or suicidal if they even thought about blocking his way. Whatever the case, leprechauns gave the tuna sandwich party wide berth as they trudged forward, toward the glass sliding doors at the end of the parlor.

Luckily for the well-being of his sight, the curtains were drawn closed over these doors. There’s a reason trolls nap away the daylight hours. Still, he tugged his eyes away and searched for this stinkin’ bear-

 _Holy carp holy carp ohcodohcodohcod_ -

Is it an escaped cholerbear!? He wasn’t sure: he never saw one before. Records of runaway cholerbear encounters are few and far in between because, well… most don’t live to tell the tale.

Where’s your riflekind when you need it?! This would be prime time to whip out his baby boy too, for the beast really was down for the count. It was this immense brute, at least twice his size, with dark, chaotic fur bristling all over its figure. Its forelimbs were lanky and knobby, with paws large enough to squash watermelons and claws coiled to a formidable point. Its whole body moved with every rapid gasp, seeming to grow in size, before relaxing into a bundled mess of lean muscles. Eridan took the liberty of guarding the rear, where he planned on, um, utilizing his natural fisticuff ability just in case they were ambushed by more of these… things. Let the professional with the crowbar handle this front situation.

Crowbar did exactly that- he lumbered over and jabbed his namesake into its cheek. Fin, for some reason, snatched the sea dweller’s sleeve before he could abscond- er, fortify the stern, and crumbled a note into his hands.

Ooooh, this process gets old so, so fast. He unfurled and smoothed this latest addition to his surging exasperation and skimmed it’s contents. _This is your problem, remember_.

Blah, blah, blah, does this look like this is covered in his paycheck!? He swung his arm back and chucked the note leprechaun-ward, right between the eyes. He smirked at that satisfying flabbergasted expression of Fin’s.

“I was takin’ care of it. I just… needed a step back, you know, to view it from a different angle.” He pivoted back to face the possible cholerbear, Crowbar still prodding it because he loves giving sushi royalty mini bloodpusher attacks. He rolled his shoulders behind him and stood at his full five feet eleven inches (majestic horns included) and marched over to the beast, his hand unclenched and groping for anything, he’ll take anything in order to defend himself-

Oh cod, he’s already here, it’s right there, and he can feel its exhales tickle his bare scales-

Its eyes snapped open. A molten gold gaze locked on him, pupils ricocheting until they stopped and dilated into slits. Its snout opened, wheezed some more, which revealed serrated fangs and black gums.

Eridan yelped and backpedalled into Fin, bowling him over in a frantic jumble of legs. Crowbar leaped out of laceration distance, knees bent, and held his modus operandi out in front of him.

Before he could accumulate the courage to accomplish something a bit more heroic, that brute achieved an action that would have put hesitation into the even the most foolhardy of Threshecutioners.

It _spoke_. And it cussed like a sailor, too.


	2. Hope Clots

Eridan wished he could somehow understand what was going on.

His thinkpan began to shut-down as that beast scrambled to its paws, spewing fierce swears like a war mantra. Its pupils switched between three targets: a formidable leprechaun that hefted a crowbar like a wizard wiggler that didn’t yet realize that his wand was fake, another leprechaun slowly being crushed to death via highblood arse, and said highblood troll with his hands in the air in an attempt to ward off this creature and totally not begging for his life.

His tremulous gestures must have terrified the brute, for it clamped its snout shut and retreated further into corner. It lowered its head and switched tactics- it began to growl.

That’s when he noticed the screeching coming rump-ward. Eridan untangled himself from Fin and brushed himself off. Who knows where that leprechaun has been.

Crowbar creeped over to them, blank eyes never straying from its target. Fin groaned from somewhere on the floor. This seatroll employee decided not to forsake this flawless opportunity to kick a fellow coworker. After all, he needed some extra motivation to arise from the floor.

Except, well, Fin caught his improvised shoekind and delivered his own blow before said deed could be accomplished. Details, details. The important thing is the fact that an _escaped cholerbear is inside their coffee shop_!

Ignoring Fin’s multiple retaliations (don’t make this blacker than it has to be), he ducked behind Crowbar as his new fuzzy, green shield. If only he thought of snatching his riflekind for this job! This would be a perfect spot to ready, aim, fire-

A grunt from his frizzy barrier seized his attention. Something cold and heavy was shoved into his claws. He blinked at his overseer: Crowbar didn’t even give him a sideways glance. He turned it over and over- he recognized a long handle, a dark trigger, a small barrell-

“Is this a submachine gun?!” Eridan yelped. “What are you giving me this for-” Oh.

He peeked over his aura of safety. That creature now eyed the green curtains, where the glass sliding doors of freedom shone with the heavenly light of the sun.

 _Ha!_ He hauled his uzikind and perched it on the nearest broad shoulder. _You aren’t getting away that easily, you quivering cluckbeast!_

Then, oh carp that brute went for it. While he struggled with his weapon, Crowbar had already chucked his like a boomerang, where it managed to hit the beast’s hanches. It halted for a moment with a snarl and- this became his moment.

He squeezed the trigger. _Yes!_

The beast let out a high-pitched whine a second afterwards. It jerked forward, pawsteps from fresh air-

A small flash of light swelled from the doorway and seemed to somehow strike, causing a guttural shriek to rip from the creature’s squeal pipette. A sour smell of ozone stung Eridan’s cartilaginous nub. Fin finally halted his kicking, the nookchafing dimwit.

The beast fell to the floor with a thump that vibrated the floor.

“What the…” How did… what was that…? Light doesn’t usually attack things. His allowed his uzikind to clatter down next to it.

Crowbar offered a short nod. He shuffled around to face- _where did all of you come from?_!

The entirety of the day crew of Schmoe’s Cup of Joe acted as an flank embankment, armed with various strife specibi. A shotgunkind, minigunkind… oh come on, paperkind is NOT an actual strife specibius, is it?

Oh yeah, they were playing cards and such right behind them when they came by to search for this “animal.”

“A lot of help you guys were.” He straightened from his barricade and placed his hands on his hips. “If you couldn’t already tell, we took care of it.”

One particularly dumb-looking one with a two on his hat slowly held up his sawn-off shotgun. Eridan scoffed before shooing them away. “The strife is over, you can all go now.”

Crowbar and Fin strolled over to their brethren to- do whatever it is leprechauns do. He decided to do something much more helpful- he edged his way toward their fallen foe and nudged it with his shoe. No reaction: while he squinted, he spied its chest lifting shakily upwards.

It’s still alive.

“Can someone explain to me what the shell just happened?!” He snapped back to an upright position, whipping around so fast he almost tripped over his legs. He pointed to the closest shape of green, where it blinked at him with no pupils. “That light thingamajig, tell me what it was! Anti-chloerbear mechanism? Coffee shop defense? Divine intervention!?”

No one answered him. Number unlucky thirteen even went an extra mile with his shrug. Thanks for the effort, bud, really appreciate it. 

Fin waddled over with the typewriter, clicking away at his keys. Eridan folded his arm in preparation for some brainless clarification that he really shouldn’t waste his precious time with when he could be snuggled up in some sopor slime right now.

A memo was waved into his face. He frowned as he struggled to read the following words:

 _Never seen that before. Except… with the maid_.

Ah, the scullery maid. She only ever attempts to escape about, oh… three times a day. He remembered he had tried to chase her earlier in his career, when her escapades went as far as the employee lounge, but her progress was always impeded- by her shock collar.

Those doors are electric fences.

“H… wait.” He paused to jab at his forehead. “How did a shock collar get on a chloerbear, of all things? What is it doing here!?”

Fin nodded reluctantly, which means that they are all on the same wavelength for once. He’s not the lone person out of the information loop. Thank Gl’bgolyb for that.

Crowbar lumbered over again, eyeing them all in turn. He held out his hand. Fin passed that stupid typewriter over without question. He regarded it for a long, silent moment.

So long that a certain sea dweller got impatient. “What are you even doing-”

_Click. Click click click._

His bloodpusher rattled in his chest..The whole room quieted. Crowbar smirked.

No one was touching the keys.

_Click clack click clack click click._

The document just sided along, like it wasn’t being typed by an invisible author. Like words not appearing on it despite words being typed was just a normal occurrence.

_Click click clack. Ding!_

Crowbar pushed it back to allow more unnoticeable words to write themselves. However, it didn’t move anymore. Silence.

Crowbar grunted and ripped the record out from the typewriter, where he held it up to the light streaming from the curtained sliding doors. Eridan, Fin, and many other leprechauns crowded behind him. Faint outlines of text glistened on the page.

_This is my present from me to you. I do hope you enjoy him. He took quite a bit of blood and sweat to get, but I am certain he will be quite useful to all of us. I can’t talk long, unfortunately; otherwise, I would introduce him to you. Ah well. Until next time._

Eridan cocked his head and reread it to make sure he got it right. No offense, but what exactly does that explain?! Cod, if anything, it only flipped him a giant middle finger and dumped even more questions on top of him.

He bared his fangs at his coworkers. “I think I deserve some solid answers after single-handedly defeating that chloerbear.”

He stood erect, awaiting some explanation; however, none was given. He scowled.

“You,” He twirled around to train a finger at leprechaun number whole-nine-yards. “I command you to explain me what’s going on here.”

Nine-to-five started, bewildered, from some intricate embroidery project. He blinked at this finger; then he slowly shook his head.

“No? Why not?! Or do you mean… you don’t know?” The leprechaun nodded vigorously.

“Which one is it?!”

A sheet of white swallowed his entire vision. He paused to see words afloat in this sea foam:

_Here’s the deal: it’s a present from the boss. You know what we do with presents?_

His bloodpusher sank at a dizzying speed, faster than the Titanic. “We are keepin’ a wild animal here. This is just happenin’ now.”

 _Yeah_ , the paper responded.

“That’s it, I’m goin’ to bed.” He twirled on his heel and sent an unenthusiastic wave over his shoulder. “Goodnight forever!”

He booked for the archway out of the Employee Lounge, where he marched to his recuperacoon in the familiar green meal block, rubbing his temples. Can his life get any worse, somehow? Not only does he have to live at his workplace, deal with these idiots on a daily basis, but now they have adopted this savage chloer-glubbing-bear just because the boss commands it?!

These are times when Eridan really thinks about tipping back some sweet nectar of the gods. However, he hid that junk awhile ago, and he hasn’t found it in its hiding place since. Ah well. Drowning in sopor slime sounds fantastic too.

He kicked his leg over the rim of his cocoon and dipped it into the slime; then lowered himself in until he almost fell inside. He was surrounded in slime, a liquid that clogged his ears, slowed his movements, and sedated his thoughts.

 _Hmmmph. I hope someone does something about this._ The weight of the day closed his eyes. _Otherwise, I may cull with it myself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed, this fanfiction is one that doesn't want to be taken seriously. I just want everyone to kick back, relax, enjoy the spluttering nonsense that comes from my mind. 
> 
> Anyway, have a great day!


	3. Slick with Lunacy

_Impressions of white pressed on his eyelids like the weight of shadows. One shape smoldered right in front of him, before it moved with ease, soaring overhead. With a natural flick of its tail, it joined the congealed mess of feathers or- fins, maybe. He couldn’t tell. It reminded him of white blood cells that answered the call of pain or disease, flocking in numbers to clash with the invaders. He didn’t really know what that would be like, but here it is, how he would picture it, complete disarray as they manhandle those germs away._

_Then, they all dispersed, tails swishing, as a yellow sun hit the earth-_

His eyes opened. His face seemed to have broken surface of his sopor slime. Where that golden mass had blistered a moment ago, a cold, dark ceiling stared him down.

“Whoa, whoa.” Eridan muttered, feeling each painful second as the dregs of sopor slime withered to die. He held his head- cod, his thoughts clanged together louder than cymbals. 

His dream bobbed up in perfect clarity. He could feel the heat on his scales- he shivered. That shouldn’t happen. That should never happen. Not anymore. He thought his stupid nightmares were gone!

His fingers brushed his glasses. Cod, dang it! Now his glasses have a light green gauze that's impossible to wash… He cursed himself before he yanked them off, where he started to bang his head with his fist in his stupidity. He fumbled with his glasses; then, he tossed them across the room, just for the halibut! Why not!? He was the idiot that left them on in the first place!

Cod, he could only hope he can find a way to stop those dreams his now. He slumped, tempted to sink back into the ick- but his internal clock beeped, beeped, beeped. It’s time for work now, Ampora!

He braced his hands against the rim of his cocoon, when he heard a noise. A huff. He paused.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._ His bloodpusher marched in time with the footsteps. He definitely was not alone.

He squinted his eyes, willing for his night vision to come quicker. Shadows of appliances fuzzed amongst darkness, and he realized he couldn’t tell what were the exact outlines of each. Where did night begin and countertops end? He leaned forward to survey his surroundings once more-

_Thump. Click. Slick-click-click-click._ What are even these noises!?

His hands went to fetch his riflekind- except oh wait, you are the dumb one, remember, you don’t have it! He mentally cursed himself as he lowered himself deeper into the gunk.

_Tap. Thump._ He tried to think of some strategy to combat this situation, but that would be a lot easier if he had his glasses and he could see properly. He halted the gurgle of rage from frothing up his ignorance shaft.

Then, he had a thought. A thought that could mean life or death. A thought that could make everything end in an instant.

What if this is an office prank.

After all, Fin had been kicking him pretty hard today. (He had the bruises to prove it.) What if this his courtpitch ritual? Or maybe Crowbar wants to teach him a lesson? Even that scullery maid could be behind this, she never liked him for no reason in particular, and skulking around like this is right up that rustblood’s alley.

He righted himself. He is Eridan Ampora, seadweller purpleblood, master of the double tall decaf latte, a troll that is one day going to eradicate everything without gills. He can handle a silly jest between coworkers, whether it is blackom or not.

“Hey!” He hollered. “Get outta my block, whoever you are!” A frantic scrambling of feet. He heard a large slam as “whoever you are” impacted a wall. His eyes caught movement- he latched on it, zeroing in on the target as he tried to judge who it was-

Uhh. That’s a pretty big shadow. It seemed to heave larger and smaller, but it was still a substantial amount taller than him. Not a lot of leprechauns were that big, nor that clumsy and loud...

_Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Oh carp._ He slapped a hand over his mouth. _Chloerbear. Chloerbear. Chloerbear._ How many stupid things has Eridan done today? Might as well start a drinking game out of this! One shot of Faygo every time he makes a mistake!

To his surprise, it didn’t immediately rip him to shreds. It did seem to inch a little closer to him, but other than that, it made no move to cull him. He heard sniffing. Oh cod, nevermind, it’s just trying to decide if he’s a delectable meal. He probably shouldn’t have drank all of those Vanilla-Billna Chais…

Now he could see that beast, yellow eyes glittering like suns as it crawled closer and closer.

“Listen, y-you... “ His voice failed him, so instead he puncated his sentence with a intimidating point of a highblood. “Don’t you step any further! I am-” His brain got dizzy when he glanced at those fangs, what’s his name again, what’s my name again.

"I am Eridan and I will blow you clear across dimensions with my doomsday device.”

It paused for a moment before growling and creeping up to him until it was strut pod’s length away from his ‘coon. That’s when Eridan dared another step into big top levels of bonkers.

“I know you can speak. I heard you speak during our battle. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re scared like a stupid wriggler!” It snarled once more- but the insanity continued to spin its merry-go-around. It spoke. Again.

“Shut up, you crusty chumbucket! I swear to Gog, if I listen to anymore of the rotted grubslurry that you call speech, I’m going to tear you apart!”

He felt his knuckles clench. _The chloerbear called me… a chumbucket. That’s it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to actually cull this thing._

Before he could think of anything else, he launched himself out of his recuperacoon and landed on his feet on cold tile. His thinkpan conjured an image for him: his riflekind is behind the hungertruck.

He held the advantage of surprise. The creature stumbled backwards as Eridan made a break for it, charging directly to his left where he remembered the hungertruck to be. He reached his arm out as he raced along, his prongs brushing the surface of wooden cabinets until- _Yes!_ The metal handle of the hungertruck. He stuck his hand behind it and searched around for his baby boy. He tugged it out with a joyous laugh, so he twirled around and pointed it toward his victim.

Light flooded the block. His eyes smarted. He ignored it and aimed for his target, a sack of fur sitting so prettily between his crosshairs-

It’s gone. What.

“おはよう”

Here comes another coworker he can barely understand. The scullery maid. She already began her midnight smoke, it seems. A grey cloud seethed from her pursed mouth, scarlet with cherry lipsmacker. She was petite, but she looked even smaller today, with her hand on her hip and a dazed expression on her face. The maid stuffed her hair in a messy bun, with black locks like worms curling around her cheeks.

He blinked at her, willing her to somehow transform into that beast so he could teach it a lesson in target practice. One that is impossible for him to fail.

She arches an eyebrow at him; then, she smirked. Oh, that horrible, repulsive smirk. He wondered if maybe she could be his target instead.

"Hey, you, land-dwellin' lowblood.” He indicated her with the barrel of Arab's Crosshairs. “Did you happen to see a monster walk by? It's huge and furry, and I got a score to settle with it.”

She scratched her chin as if in thought. Possibilities, she probably thinking. Possibilities. Maybe she decided a simple route. She said some words with that thick accent of hers, and shrugged, with that smile returning.

Hmmph. He copied her stance, hip, smile, everything. “Thank you. I will definitely look up there when I not busy doing something more important. I hope that beast finds you first, Mar.”

She fake-shot him double finger guns and blew the smoke off her flipped middle fingers.

He held his head up high as he passed her, marching toward the only other area in this place where he believed his catch could go: the employee lounge.

When her smoke stopped smoldering in his nose, he winced and rubbed his forehead. That was the best insult you could think of, Ampora? _Good Glub, what happened to you!?_

He stepped under the archway that separated eternal abyss from heaven. He gazed into the darkness, now able to spy the empty tables, games abandoned. His eyes traced the loungeplanks, the television, the gossamer curtains full of moonlight- however, no large, murderous animal to be seen. He blinked. His hand slapped the felt wall, searched, then flicked on the lightswitch. Still nothing.

"How do you lose,”- Eridan stomped toward a loungeplank and swung back his shoekind- “a gigantic, motherglubbing chloerbear!”

He achieved nothing by that venture- just a throbbing nub and a mouth full of curses- so he allowed himself to collapse on the floor. His anger slowly ebbed away as he laid there, replaced with… well.

The best way to describe it is frank confusion blended with an overabundance of exhaustion, crowned by a dollop of self-pity and the penultimate cherry on top: a little voice that convinced him that he's crazy, that's it, completely out of his thinkpan. Maybe everything that happened was a dream, Eridan thought. A really, really, really insane dream.

Tentatively, he pushed himself off the floor and glanced at the clock in the employee's lounge. Work time. He groaned. So with great reluctance, he lumbered out of the only heaven inside Schmoe's Cup of Joe. Despite the buzz of emotions seeping into his thinkpan, he allowed himself to slip into the routine of the workday. It's only a workday.

_Only this, and nothing more._

So this is why, after some time of getting prepared and tapping his foot, Eridan relished the sound of the bell as a customer stumbled in. He would usually take any chance he had to neglect his job (who wouldn't?), but he absolutely needed a distraction from what happened- Er, what happened in his dream. Yup, still running with that story.

His first customer didn't come to the coffee bar right away; instead, he la-la-di-ed himself into the furthest corner and curled up on the booth seat like a wriggler with insurmountable birth regrets. Eridan frowned at the cloaked hoodie form, feeling utterly betrayed. Why would you get his hopes up like that?

Which brings up more, though unrelated, questions. Where's the rest of his idiot coworkers? Did all of them decide that Eridan deserved more suffering and ditched him to go play more poker? Sigh, never trust leprechauns.

That means the only people on staff are yours truly and… God, that aggravating scullery maid. When will the world show him mercy?

Eridan exhaled as loud as he could, not to get anyone's attention or anything. Just a lonesome little loach lamenting the low and luckless lot of his life. Yes, don't pay any mind to the ball of utter misery and depression. He's a big disgrace, but hey, he isn't the only one.

Slowly, his hands shambled over to the coffee machines, lifelessly brewing a meager cup to kick off the early night routine. Type: Blackout, ten spoonfuls of sugar with no cream. Eridan nearly had the chance to even enjoy the smell of his death wish concoction when he heard that infernal bell ring. Will the torture ever cease.

Granted, at first he did want to do his job, but even his life can't fulfill that one stupid wish… God, this is glubbing dismal. Downright wretched; although, not quite up to lancrymorse yet. But give it time. The shift has only just begun.

With that somber monologue out of the way, Eridan turned to face his customer- only to internally flip the flipper out moment he saw her. Not exactly a looker, unless you are into someone who can kick your tail fin (he doesn't blame you.) An untamed black kraken-amount of hair frizzed down her back, complete with a leather jacket and thin glasses to give that good 'ole "try-hard" style. Long but horribly mismatched horns protruded from this dark sea like golden islands. Oh, and of course, who can forget her most notable feature: her eight pupil eye.

"Hey there," greeted no other than Vriska Serket.

So Eridan decided to treat her to the best welcome a faithful guest can receive at Joe's Cup of Schmoe.

"I'm going to call the motherglubbin' police."


	4. Down on His Luck

Vriska rushed forward, launched over the counter and throttled him into a chokehold at the speed of light. 

"What the…" Eridan wheezed as her arms tightened around his neck. 

"I think we are getting off on the wrong prong here," She gave a vicious smile. "I'm your comrade now, remember? There's no need to call the police. Come on, I thought you were over us by now." 

_Sorry, what?_ "This isn't about us!" 

"Oh, trust me, I know how much of a bitch-wiggler you are. You've been trying to darken our relationship since we crashed and burned. If anything, I should be threatening _you_ with the police to file a restraining order." Vriska tightened her grip so much that little yellow suns started to sexually harass his glance nuggets. 

_Okay, maybe it is about us._ "Alright, Vris, but I also have some leverage, so all of this doesn't prove a single thing. I can tell them about the Deal-" 

A deep growl thrashed out of his head captor as she jerked him (in a very harsh and extremely uncalled-for way) against the wall. 

Usually, Vris doesn't resort to such, ah, _persuasive methods_ , so that must mean he's either about to sleep with the fishies or she's desperate to initiate some bolt from the black romp. 

_Either way, it's a lose-lose situation_ , he tried to convince himself. _But I'm down with the second option._

The look she was giving him terrified him so much that it has to be the second option. He found himself breathless, panting as her glare intensified. 

"I swear to Gog..." Her face twisted in disgust and she let go of him, allowing him to slide down the wall. 

Before he could conceive some semblance of an appropriate response, Vriska had already turned away and vaulted over the counter. With shaky prongs, he slowly steadied himself on his nubs while she forced her grimace into a grim smirk. 

"Let's start over," Eridan blurted. 

"Wow," Vriska hesitated for only a moment. "Way to make this awkward, idiot." 

He scoffed, "Excuse me, why are we blaming me again?!" 

"Nobody was blaming anyone! Just… gogdammit, why can't you just let me talk to you for once? You have to make it all about you!" She drawled.

"Some hatefriend you are!" He retorted, pointing his finger in his most threatening, I-am-higher-than-thou stance. Channel his inner purple sea troll, a companion to the heir. 

"I was _trying_ to be nice, but I guess you don't want that after all." Eridan crossed his arms, hoping he looked a little intimidating. 

Vriska massaged her temples for a long time. A strangely tense yet awkward silence filled the cafe. That was when he noticed the full distance that had come between them. A deep ocean that can never be crossed, lest someone gets dragged down into inky darkness. 

A warm hand clasped his shoulder. Snarling, he whipped around to at least give someone a _fraction_ of this day's insanity. He didn't care who it was, as long as they knew the wrath of Eridan Ampora! 

"Go away! This doesn't concern you." 

_There, that should do it._ His attention switched back to the situation at prong… except that Vriska was giving him the most perplexed expression he has ever seen. What. 

"Who the hell are you talking to?" She stepped away from him, probably to keep some space between her and this slippery asylum escapee. 

"What do you mean, you numbsponge-" He froze. 

The grip on his shoulder tightened, slowly burning into his skin. Realization dawned; then sent a wave of fire and ice through his blood. 

It hasn't been a day and he's already hallucinating. 

"Prince of Hope," Sang the fake silhouette behind him. "It's time to wake up." 

Maybe he should call a sick day. It's not that far off. Being sick in the head is practically the same thing. 

Vriska still stared at him. Warm fingers burrowed into his scales. 

Put a flipping tiny trident in him; he's done. Does he even NEED to count the number of things that went horribly and utterly wrong?! 

First, an adopted seatroll-racist chlorbear. Second, sleep deprivation via useless alien coworkers. Third, crazy nightmares that detail the impossible. Fourth, everybody's platonic and/or romantic hatred for him. Finally the piece de resistance: the hallucinogenic revival of those dreams. 

"I hate this," Eridan whimpered in a manly way.

Vriska only raised an eyebrow. "You know what. Give me my usual, so I can just… sit down." 

He inhaled, exhaled. Count the breaths. Like how he was taught to do. 

"Sure, one medium straight coffee with eight shots of sugar, coming up." 


	5. Angelic Wrath Breaks Him

Eridan had trained himself for this express purpose. Underneath freeze-nubs-off waterfalls and deep amidst lonely bamboo forests, he applied himself to an ancient technique, utilized by any female species in the paradox space who felt slighted. He steeled himself, taking deep breaths, while he committed to Operation: Sometimes This Works. 

This operation can only be to complete if he followed mission parameters, which are indeed so simple that even a stoned, empty-sponged wiggler can swallow his bulge without any neck strain and follow it. Just hardcore ignore angel buddies that only a sushi lunatic, _such as_ _yours truly_ , can see. Blow them off, no matter what they say. He can manhandle himself back to a beautiful reality.

So... why must this angel make it so DIFFICULT?!

"Ah, goodness! Boy am I glad I got your attention. I've got a lot to tell you... in fact, I think I have it all written down someone, hold tight."

 _Vriska is interesting,_ His rapidly-deteriorating sanity suggested. He risked his life for a glance in her general direction- not once admiring her exposed nubs or curvy exoskeleton, oh no- he merely watched as she whipped out her phone to scan the screen. With a low-pitched growl that he only heard in his wet dreams, she slammed her phone back on the table and leaned back, dangerously suspended between the air and the floor that was only cleaned twice a week. Although he and the phone share no physical characteristics whatsoever, he found himself sympathizing with this little device, his bloodpusher quickening as he imagined the insurance bill. 

She bit down _hard_ on her straw, which totally wasn't sexy at all. His mindpan reminded him of the good 'ol blackrom days: cannonballs whistling through salt-tinged air while he aimed his boat forward, a battingram aimed toward her stern to finally sink that idiotic- 

"Ah! No worries, I found it. Okay, let's see here," His fakey fake angel began. "Yeah, it says... forgiveness? Huh. Don't know what that means. I guess I was in a hurry when I wrote this. Uh... what do you think, champ?" 

_She used to chew on my neck like_ _that,_ Eridan remembered. _Like a flippin' rainbowdrinker-_

"Erm, golly. I wish I was a wee bit more prepared than I am. Oopsie! Forgiveness... Maybe you did something and I have to forgive you? Or you have to forgive someone? Come on, help me out here." 

_S.O.S._ He tried to mentally project his thoughts to anyone, anyone at all who cared- be it troll, human, or leprechaun- to throw a lifesaver because holy Glub this TOTALLY-NOT-REAL angel is going _overboard._

"Forgiveness is such a broad topic. Heh, sorry about that, I-I wish I wrote a little more. Let's move onto the next thing..."

 _Why me. Why me. Why me._ He forced himself not to even breathe in the general vicinity of this imaginary being of holiness, but it kept squawking anyway. 

"Oh! I know this bit! So Princey," Eridan groaned because, of course, _why me_. "You have this destiny- it's a bigg'un alright! Get excited about that. Like, applaud or something. Anyway, in order to follow this here destiny, you are going to have to wake up. Understand? Everything you thought was a dream was actually a reality while the reality is actually a dream! Well, not really, to be honest, everything has a little bit of truth. Some existence strung along there. Otherwise, it wouldn't exist!" 

He crumpled to his nubs. Nothing made sense anymore; he was so _done._ So over this scenario, he's going to pirouette over the fucking MOON. The burning balls of gas in the night sky got nothing on him, the first flying-fish troll, who finally flipped off the handle so much that the handle stopped being a handle because let's just face it, he cannot _handle_ this situation. 

Thus a dam creaked, liquid dribbling from the cracks. His face felt cold. 

Drip drop, drip drop. Seafoam pooled at the edge of his senses. 

Drip drop, drip drop. The dam protested, no longer able to hold back a torrent. 

This day really was a nightmare. 

"Hey, bro." 

Was it the angel? He peeked from his makeshift fortress of solitude, where his prongs had covered his nugbone and where he had hidden underneath the counter. Above him, a white skull grinned at him, yellow eyes blinking right through him. 

"Uh," Eridan waffled. What the actual hell. 

The stranger only grinned wider. "Where the motherfucking fuck can I get some of dat sweet coffee, my motherfucking bro?" 

"You... came to the right place?" Like a confused catfish, he cocked his head at this unnatural intruder (although, compared to the competition of other unexpected visitors, he isn't all that bad.) Who dared interrupt his dramatic climax? 

"Aw yeah, man. Thanks bro. Knew I could count on ya'. I could feel it, right there in my motherfucking miracle scanner." He hopped onto one prong and kicked off his shoe.

"Right there, in my big bottom prong. It was pointing to you!" He wiggled his nub in Eridan's face. In response to his admittedly adorable earnestness, he tried his best not to gag. A noble task for the intrepid guppy. 

"So, like... where's the motherfucking coffee, bro?" _No shoes, no service._ Eridan closed his talk blaster just in time, reminded of his high-quality customer service promise he had to uphold. They don't say that Joe's Cup of Schmoe's service isn't to die for, after all. 

He slowly straightened himself, feeling his prongs wobble and his oxygen sac quiver with every movement. 

_Get a hold of yourself. There has to be some point where all of this can stop being terrible, right?_ He tried and failed to comfort himself. 

"Well, what kind of coffee do you want?" He indicated the wide array of selection with a grand sweep of his prongs. Wowza, look at all the half-hearted employee pizzaz! 

The stranger shifted his thousand-yard stare upward, which allowed Eridan a full survey of his personage. To be honest, he isn't much to look at. Baggy, dirty clothing that hung off a skeletal frame; painted monochrome tattoos with intricate yet crazed designs like a hypnotic watch; and finally, curly crow's nest hair that did seem to house a crow once, evident from the black feathers and bird residue. Certainly not the fakey fake knight in shining armor that he expected to save from a downward spiral, but hey, beggars can't be sailors. (Is that how the human saying goes? Aw, who cares. Eridan can be both if he wants! Who cares! NOBODY!) 

An unnerving concoction of a groan and a growl rumbled in the stranger's squeak duct. "Uh... what's the most magic-tastic one you have, motherfucking bro?"

"Um. What do you like in a coffee, sir?" Eridan tried to calm his patience, but hmm, he misplaced that a LONG time ago.

"Like, the wonderful kind!" The stranger offered a causal shrug that poped the entirety of his exoskeleton, probably. "The one that's, like, motherfucking impossible to explain, like... wow. Like, it's the best in the universe. A motherfucking liquid miracle, man." 

_Where's a universal typewriter translator when you need it?_ "Do you want my recommendation, sir?" 

"Motherfuck. I can do that? Awesome! Lead the way, man. Toward miracles."

"Miracles." Eridan wanted an explanation, please, is it too hard to ask? 

"All the motherfucking miracles, man." The stranger suddenly lunged forward and grabbed his shoulders, and he leaned in far too much. 

_BACK UP!_ "Yo, can I tell you about a dream I had, bro?" His breath smelled like rotten grub sauce and something a little sweet. Like candy. "This dream, like, it told me that I need to start looking at other places, I think. You know? It told me to travel outside my planet, like bro, I need to go in _motherfucking_ _outer space,_ motherfucking motherfucker!"

"Aw fuck me." Eridan moaned. Hey, Murphy's Law? That universal rule that dictates that everything in his life can go wrong just because _screw you_? Well, knock-knock, when can this madness stop, he's begging on the prong and fucking nub. 

"Not yet, bro." He unlatched himself from tuna royalty, thankfully, and slinked back to his proper customer placement. "You know what, I actually just want a bottle of Faygo. You have that here?" 

He paused. For once, he can actually provide a straight answer to something. "Yeah, in the back." 

"Woah, how far back? Do you need assistance? Don't motherfucking hesitate to ask." A toothy grin wouldn't even begin to describe it. Eridan wondered if some trolls were just naturally born with more rows of teeth, like some kind of sub-species of fish-troll. Shark troll? 

"No, sir. I will get it for you," Eridan Ampora can actually do this, really, he _can._

Oh, great Glub below, why is he so thrilled by the fact that he can actually do something? Like he actually has control over what happens in his life for once? This is plain woebegone, he's reached the part beyond lachrymose now! 

"Thanks. You're the motherfucking best, bro!" Cue the double finger guns. "Can I get your mythical name? Mine's Gamzee Macaroni, or some shit." 

Instinctively, his bone column arranged itself in a vertical direction and he jabbed his prong forward, ready to give a human tradition dubbed a "handshake." 

"Eridan Ampora," _It feels so good to say that._ "I recommend that you don't forget it unless you would want some Faygo force-fed into your smell chutes." 

"Alrighty-o! Crystal meth clear, Daniel Pufferfish." 

"That is most definitely _not_ my name, you disgusting- OW!" His prongs absconded from the treacherous handshake, in which he discovered a horrible truth. 

Gamzee chuckled. "Oh man, I forgot about my nub-buzzer. Sorry." 

Well well well, he had been thoroughly japed. That was a sorry mistake invoked by Gam-meister here. See, he had lived through the Joe's Cup of Shmoe Prank Wars of last Tuesday, and he actually _won -_ even if it only was by technicality because he had pranked the others so much they pretty much gave up- anyway, it doesn't matter! He waited his entire life to do this! To actually met an equal on the battlefield, someone who would dare bamboozle a member of the Ampora line! 

"This is an act of war," Eridan smiled. 

"Ah, chill bro, it happens all the time. Ever heard of static electricity?" Gamzee commenced a staring contest with his nubs. "I know, it's a motherfucking miracle. Anyway, you shouldn't get all grump 'bout it. I'll just take it off."

 _Fool!_ "You do not understand. You are a catalyst to an epic conflict of jests, an inescapable challenge of which you just provided the means when we touched, nub to nub-" 

"Yeowuch! The electricity just bit me, the little motherfucker!" 

"This will thus lead to wisecracks of world-shattering proportions. I do hope you understand the prank parameters now, Gamzee Macaroni. This is end all, be all! May the best trickster win! Because it starts, right here, right now!" 

"Buh, what? Motherfuck this little fucking shit, it won't let go of my nub!" 

"Prepare yourself for glitter bomb packages, sharpie marker mustaches, and so much more ingenious machinations provided by me, Eridan Ampora!" He pointed his prong toward his target, who rolled in the wiggler position with small wails of pain.

 _Yes, cower in fear!_ "Hey, Erwin, help a motherfucker out. How do I make it stop?" 

"No, it's too late!" Eridan was already unknotting his employee apron, which was a drab vomit-colored rag, feeling all of his senses heighten as adrenaline overflowed within him. "I must begin the strategies at once! By the time you return tomorrow, consider yourself flimflamed!" 

"Whoa, I can come back tomorrow? Sweet! Can I get my Faygo then?" 

Practically drowning with glee, maybe this sensitive mackerel employee could actually consider this day- a day chock-full of mishaps due to various factors, including but not limited to: intelligent talking-cholerbears, lime-green bigot coworkers, cuckoo-dreams of daybreak, talkative imaginary fronds, or even embarrassing encounters with past blackrom crushes-

A good day. 

"See you tomorrow, Gam!" He hollered behind him as he ducked back into the Employee's Only Area. In his mind, a symphony blurted out in song. Everything he suffered thus far- it was so worth it!

A good day. Today was certainly a good day.


	6. Rise and Shine

When Aradia awoke for the first time in thousands of rotations, she knew that she was dead. 

Dead for quite a while, actually. She studied her remains thoroughly enough to safely categorize her death as _a long time ago_. It's practically ancient history at this point.   
  
Boring, even. 

So boring she considered going back to sleep, but something prevented her from getting snuggled up in her comfy coffin. For when she had opened her glance nuggets, she was almost sure, for just a fraction of a millisecond that it barely even counted as a moment- 

She heard the most beautiful music. Like golden heaven in an intangible form. 

And gogdammit if she wasn't going to go find it. If her name wasn't Sherlock Aradia! 

Which it is now. Why? Because she decided that she can be called whatever she wanted, that's why. The dead tell no tales, so she doesn't have to tell _why_ \- right?

She floated midair to give her resting place a good once-over. Fog spooled around her like a thick spider's web, tangled amongst shadows of willow trees that wept at the misfortune of their capture, and a lonely moon gazed at her like a one-eyed pirate, excited that he found actual buried treasure. Her grave was the only one in the general vicinity, so her corpse party must've been pretty dull without undead attendance. She imagined Tavros wheel-chairing away from a horde of zombies holding colorful balloons and crooked party hats. 

She giggled. Then she imagined the dead ultimately overpowering him, knocking him down on the ground and slowly peeling off his prongs like pulling the legs off a stag beetle. She giggled again. 

It wasn't that funny. 

She cocked her eyebrow, a skill she had learned while she was still alive. _Welp. What do I do now?_

She glanced at her paltry pile of deathday presents. Some plastic flowers, some black-and-white photos, even a few notes. She didn't really care. What's the point if she can't use them?

Did they even truly miss her? Well, she could think of a few they could maybe genuinely miss her. One... two... 

_Oh!_ She gasped out loud. _Sollux! I bet if I just find him-_

 _Wait._ Her thoughts ceased to a halt as she tried to analyze her sponge, scouring for any hint of... well, _something._ Anything. 

What did she expect? Well, she expected a warm blossom of passion that stemmed from Sollux's name, a deep desire that transcended anything that could be considered real. An otherworldly need to hold him close, as close as she can. Even closer than that. 

She decided to test the waters. _Sollux._

_Sollux._

_Sollux?_

_Sollux Captor._

_Sollux- my mind-honey bunch?_

_Card Captor Sollux?_

Zilch. These thoughts did not stimulate anything within her. She just felt... empty. She felt more of the absence rather than the substance, like a canine that had fallen out, but her tongue keeps returning back to that area of open flesh and tricking blood, expecting it to be there. Venturing the void. 

Hmm. Well, not much she can do about that, really. Once again, she expected some kind of uneasiness or frustration to cloud her sponge, but she was empty. 

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't feel anything about him anymore. 

_Welp, Sherlock Aradia, you were looking for a song?_

Right, thanks sponge-Aradia, the song. Time to puzzle out the enigma of that mysterious soundtrack! Where to start? Shrug. Maybe just float around and see if she hears it again? Ah, a good plan, a good plan. She is really quite the detective! 

HA! Funny! See? She can make jokes! 

Ehhhh. Not funny at all. 

_I better start floating before I hurt myself_ , She thought as she hovered toward the waves of fog, able to part them easily like Moses and the Red Sea. Mostly because she was incorporeal, but hey, that's the perks of being spectral! Comes as a side package for the real deal- now with free shipping and value guarantee- or your boonbucks back! (Note: no refunds allowed at this moment in time due to the absence of the customer's soul.) 

Moving on, she felt the air drop approximately a bajillion degrees as she waded through the swamp. Branches shattered the gray sky like cracked glass, crossing over in endless, sharp corners. She wondered if she still had flesh how much it would hurt to be pricked by them. Vines reached for her, hands ready to drag her the depths, or maybe to greet her and have a tea party, neither of which Aradia was in the mood for. Distantly, the noises of life whispered, but she couldn't bring herself to care for the wolves' lonely howls or the screeches of the victorious bat, she just wanted that song. 

Just that one song. For her to have. It was meant for her, NO, it was hers all along, she could just felt it in her _dead, decrepit bones-!_

Suddenly, a poor rendition of a horse's winny echoed through the air. It felt normally (strangely) familiar. 

"Will you cease your plaintive neighs? Although I appreciate your earnest effort, it isn't working." 

"Oh. Ah. I-I thought..."

"What's wrong. I believe something is wrong with your face." 

"My face? Fiddlesticks, I appear to be... perspiring."

"Oh no."

"This is your fault, you must take responsibility!" 

"Calm down. Would you like my handkerchief?" 

Aradia paused at the edge of the treeline. Suddenly, the swampland vanished and gave way to an industrial box; a steel building gleamed in the moonlight as two figures shuffled around in the darkness, barely not bumping into each other. Yellow eyes and beams of light were all that shone amidst the twilight. Troll guards? What exactly were they guarding?

Or are they lost souls like her? What are they searching for? 

_Hmm, curiouser and curiouser._ Aradia mused the thought of them both looking for the same thing, but it's unlikely to say the least; might as well try to fuse with a frog for all the likelihood of _that_ happening. 

Perhaps even more curious though is her flash of recognition when she first heard them. Did she know them in life? Probably, but why is it so difficult to recall them now? She remembers Sollux, of course, and Tavros for whatever reason... 

She reached a mental roadblock. Aradia stared at the gigantic, insurmountable wall that prevented her from receiving information about her life. That's kinda unfair, abrupt amnesia, she doesn't appreciate all this _not_ -progress she's undergoing right now. Honestly, so rude! 

Not that she feels angry about it, just it's super inconvenient. 

"I must thank you," The deeper of the two interrupted her inner monologue with a weary sigh of relief. "I do... argh, my apologies, I am not used to receiving orders from someone such as yourself, mad' am." 

"I'm sorry, I am unsure if I heard you correctly. Did you say... ma'dam?" The other replied with a vague sense of incredulity. Aradia liked her voice, it was quiet... calm. 

Her companion appeared to asphyxiate for a few moments. "I-I... well, yes, I did call you that, but don't expect me to do it again!" 

Then came her laughter. Like a crystal avalanche, it started as a low rumble before shattering in the air as a pure burst of sound. Thunderous, like she hasn't figured out how to reign in her amusement yet. 

"Oh jegus..." She snorted. "That's a riot, really it is." 

"Are my proper manners entertaining to you?" Grumpy-Wumpy muttered to her. 

"Oh, not exactly- Anyway, have you seen any sign of it yet?" 

"N-no. That's why I was braying earlier, to see if it would pick up the bait of fresh meat."

"I see... G-Good thinking, but maybe we need something more convincing-" 

_So they are hunting for something? And it eats meat?_ Ah, Sherlock Aradia is getting closer to cracking this case wide open! If only that pronoun game hadn't been initiated.

Well, she isn't going to piece the puzzle together if she just levitates here. Maybe she should say hello? 

Unsure of what promoted her forward after those thoughts, her spirit form propelled forward from the shadows, while she expected a high-energy rush to flood her, adrenaline beating through her as her bloodpusher quickened-

She felt none of those things, but she imagined just for a little bit that perhaps she could. Anything to feel... _feel what?_

"Did you see that?" A sword of light sliced through the fog.

Aradia paused, all momentum halted. She had a grand total of zero tactical contingistrats. How exactly did she plan on introducing herself? The dead don't just waddle toward the nearest living person and offer a "how do you do." At least, not in any c-list horror flick she knew about. 

Ah, well, she's here now. No time to think of pleasantries or strategies! "Good evening." 

"I heard something," The male mumbled. "It sounds like... no, impossible. It cannot mimic voices, correct?" 

The flashlight continued to sway through the fog, searching for her. "No, 6-12 does not mimic voices. Have you ever heard it speak before?" 

"No. Perhaps it is my imagination. This is near where-" His voice trembled and fell silent.

A long silence, heavy and despondent. Aradia had an idea why, as her memories banged against her thinkpan amnesia barrier. Their names broke through first, so she drifted toward their silhouettes, as a fakey fake warmness bloomed on her very dead lips. 

"Kanaya and Equius." She greeted. 

"Oh dear Gog." In unison, twin rays of light touched on her. She could now see them and knew she was right; Kanaya Maryam and Equius Zahhak stood before her, the former in shock and the latter in confusion. 

Were they her friends in life? They definitely seem to know her. Scattered moments whirled like a kaleidoscope, so much color sparking right behind her empty eyesockets. Millions of past hers, split between a line driven in the sand. The coast housed her- Aradia Medigo, a young, happy, beautiful, and very much alive her alongside so many people. She laughed, she giggled, she kissed, she hugged, she shone with so much _feeling._ The ocean was her as she is now. Dead. Doomed to the existence of nonexistence, no longer tied to the mortal plane. Oh Jegus, it was almost painful. 

Almost. 

"Aradia?" Kanaya breathed, a small cloud of frost caught silver and gold by the moon and her flashlight.

Equius spluttered, rubbing his hands together. "What? Did you just say Aradia? That-" 

"What in the name of burning Jegus do you mean?!" Kanaya flapped her prongs in a frenzy. "She's right there!"

"Watch your language!" Equius snapped before sweating gallons more. "I mean, I'm sorry, I must apologize, I shouldn't speak to you like that- Argh! I just... I beg of you, don't do this to me." 

"Yeah, I'm right here. Hello." Aradia waved at Equius, but he wasn't staring anymore. Any indication that he perceived her was gone, save a slight flinch. 

"I... are you alright? Maybe you need to go sleep," He adjusted his sunglasses. Who wears those at midnight? 

Kanaya scoffed for a moment until something seem to impact her like a toppled ruins (Aradia knows that feeling, no worries). "You... you don't see her, do you?" 

"Look, ma'dam," He winced once more and placed a very gentle hand near her nub, ready to give comfort but not ready to shatter bones. "I believe we have spent a lot of time searching for the beast. I suggest- no, _I order you_ \- yes, I order you to go to your hive to get some rest. I will remain here for a while, just to be certain it isn't still wandering around. Is this... acceptable?"

The way he shivered a bit when he said that last part made Aradia a little... well, perturbed would be the right word, but she didn't really feel that, per se. Her thinkpan just casually informed her that was a _no-no,_ and she just said _okay, duly noted._

"Ah, yes. Thank you. I will go back to my hive." Kanaya shuffled away from Mr. Niagara Falls before sashaying down a stray concrete path Aradia didn't spy before. 

Aradia ignored her. She would test out why Kanaya could see her and Equius couldn't later. For now, she has to start an investigation!

Experimentally, she fluttered beside him, suddenly aware of their size difference. He towered above her, a huge beast of a troll with bulged muscles that rivaled even a trunkbeast. Thanks to her nonexistent dread, _s_ he reached a nub out and tapped his posture pole. 

To her utmost surprise (that being said, not actual surprise, but more like a little _oh_ moment), he did not react to her, but rather, he started to hum a little tune. He marched toward the nearest tree and began to annihilate it and every other one in a ten-yard radius. Frustration radiated off him in waves, so she gave him a lot of berth, despite being dead and generally untouchable apparently. All the while, he grunted out a horribly pitched song that Aradia slowly recognized. 

_That's the song I heard when I woke up!_

Aradia floated beside him, not caring if he punched right through her. She wanted to listen, even if Equius didn't exactly give her song any justice.

She found herself matching his guttural growl, but she's couldn't continue singing that low, so she hopped up several octaves higher. She stumbled over the melody for a while until she got the hang of it, finally able to keep up. Her voice sounded like creaks and moans to her, so together they made for a strange pair of screeching banshee and eldritch horror, but nobody could hear her anyway (maybe?), so she didn't even care.

Almost as if he was waiting for her to join him, he slowed his notes until they both found the song they were searching for. 

A duet he could not see. 


	7. Need Some Spacetime

Well, Aradia supposed that was one mystery solved. Sorta. 

She _did_ complete her original purpose, to find the song she heard when she awoke from her death (which is perplexing in itself), but she didn't actually find the song's source. Or the why. Or the how. Or the what the hell, for that matter.

Plus, after all those weird ghostly shenanigans, her thinkpan only pestered her with more questions. How could Kanaya see her, but Equius could not? Could he sense her presence? Why did he start humming that beautiful melody when she touched him? 

Honestly, it's a good thing that she can't feel emotions anymore; otherwise, her sheer bewilderment would indeed overwhelm her. She hovered in place for a while to ponder these questions, but before she could conceive anything conclusive-

A ragged breath lassoed her attention back to reality. "Oh no. I have made quite a... mess." 

She blinked as Equius Zahhak straightened before her, a lone figure amongst the tree massacre. He yanked off his glasses to wipe them with his shirt, surveying the extent of the damage with tired azure eyes. Arcadia had to admit, she almost forgot that he was there, even with his fortissimo of nature rampage and what not. Sure, they harmonized together, but as soon as he stopped humming, she returned to her silent speculation. 

"I suppose I must report to her Majesty about what happened," He muttered after placing his glasses back on his pointy cartilaginous nub.

Her Majesty? Hey, new afterlife, who is this? Aradia floated behind Equius as he turned and stomped up the grassy slope, his journey clearly headed toward a gray cement block on the summit. 

_I know both him and Kanaya patrolled this area, trying to find this 6-12 thingy,_ She paused in her thoughts to see if her sponge would beget any helpful ideas. _Is this "Majesty" their boss? Who is she?_

Memories broke surface through the grimy murk. Sensations of sea salt that tasted like sugar, a shark grin with pink lipstick, and icy water droplets that chilled her down to her now nonexistent bones. Could it be Feferi Peixes? Although everything about her wasn't regal or even leader-like, Feferi did hold the title of next Condense in line. _Between my demise and now, did she ascend to the throne? Why does she boss Kanaya and Equius around?_

Just like before, too many questions, and yet too few answers. Aradia huffed in mock frustration, knowing that the alive Aradia would be annoyed about this, even if it didn't bother her that much. Without emotions, she supposed she could think a lot more freely, but she hasn't gotten used to the catastrophic emptiness yet. 

Reason chugged down the track, ready to theorize until wondrous oblivion. She forcefully derailed her metaphorical train of thought and watched it crash and, metaphorically, burn. Many metaphorical people just sizzled, shrieking bloody murder, while she followed Equius toward the drab cube. He barely creaked open the crusty door when Aradia finally snapped out of her intriguing daydream. 

He glanced behind him and met her gaze for a moment. The intellectual inside Aradia decided to stick out her tongue at him. He did not seem to notice, instead surveying the lonely forest around him. Grunting in grim satisfaction, he stepped into the dark doorway. _Poof!_ He disappeared from her sight almost immediately. She began to join him inside who gogdamn knows where, but before she could, a puncturing sensation rattled across her nugbone. 

She wheeled backward, breathless, but the stab-y stabbing feeling drained from her as soon as she rushed far from the door. Panting, she placed her prong on her nugbone, surprised at the lack of outer injury. _Of course there isn't a wound, you're dead!_ Ha, how funny. 

Anyway, Aradia regarded the doorframe in front of her with newfound caution. She strained a single arm into nothingness, only to start screaming as that pain returned tenfold, and she instinctively rocketed away to cradle her face. The agony took it's sweet time fading away now, leaving behind an impossibly extreme migraine. 

"What the hell?" She gasped. 

She wiped away tears she could not feel and straightened up from her corpse box position. Clamorous echos like tinny flutes berated her for her endless stupidity, but she still managed to stay afloat, even when the sirens started blaring. 

"Come, follow me! I'll lead a group over here."

"I'm going this way!"

"Are you sure? I don't see anything, maybe it's a false alarm-"

"It must be here!" 

She thought about dodging the hordes of people that now streamed through the door, but even existing seemed like a chore now, so she stood numbly while they steamrolled right through her. _I am incorporeal, so the living cannot touch me._ Yet, somehow this thought made her feel even worse, frothing nausea up her squeal pipette. 

Aradia returned to the fetal position. That seemed like a nice tactical contingistrat, yes yes, a very good one; despite her headache being a sadistic serial killer who refused to stop strangling her thinkpan. She retched weakly, but her stomach no longer functioned like a living one, so she just panted like a fish out of water. She watched as colorful silhouettes scattered toward the trees, paying no mind to the invisible specter in the final throes of second death.

How can someone die twice? Well, she's unsure, but holy gog above, it sure did feel like it. 

_Need to get out._ She drifted between tears and curses, tense as death spooled around her once more. A skeletal _no he is not a skeleton_ grip swathed around her, caressing her flesh gently, like she had transformed into a delicate ice sculpture. Whispers full of regret _he's so sad_ coaxed her to sleep. A distant rumble that reminded her of a thunderstorm _did it_ _really rain that day_ soothed her, adding to the ambient grief until the whole world sang a dismal tune. She felt her temperature tick down, lower and lower, until she felt as numb as the aforementioned ice sculpture. 

_I think he said something. My name?_

"Tick tock," Was all she could offer. _No, that's not right._ She wanted to correct herself, but she drowned in inky cold before she could. 

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Tock tick. Tock tick. Tock tick-_

"Will you cease your plaintive neighs? Although I appreciate your... earnest effort, I don't think it is working." 

"A-ah. I thought..."

"What's wrong. I believe something is wrong with your face." 

"Fiddlesticks, I appear to be perspiring. You must take responsibility for your actions!" 

"Calm down. I know I have a handkerchief somewhere..." 

Huh. The forest was flipped upside-down. Oh wait, she's just on face- Gah, Aradia feels like she crawled from the soul barbeque cookout of hell, what the fuck happened? 

With a zombielike grunt, she straightened up onto a her usual floating position, cradling her thinkpan from the pulsating aftershocks of a gog-awful migraine. Despite her beyond the grave status, she appeared to have a liquid leaking from her ears. Ectoplasm, perhaps? A cause for concern? Eh, Aradia begged to differ. She doesn't really hurt (much, also, why can she hurt at all?), so she's probably going to ace the I-Barely-Survived test. 

Which is pretty good, for a ghost and all. 

"Do you hear something?" Kanaya inquired. When did she come back? She deftly slashed the fog with her flashlight specibus. 

Equius only huffed in response. When did he come out of that gray building? 

Wait. Prismatic whirlwinds of memories swished inside her, uncovering thousands of moments where she, Aradia Megido, alive and healthy and content and innocent- 

Had manipulated time. 

Well, that was a couple of her questions answered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I was starting a lot of writing projects at once, so I was trying to get my life in order. Expect updates weekly from now on! Have a great day!

**Author's Note:**

> Do not panic, it's not Aradia and Equius shipping, it's just a little moment between them. If you are here for the Aradia and Kanaya pair, then congrats, it begins now!


End file.
